Snowgirl and Iceman
by Dagron
Summary: Despite living in the same castle, Elsa and Anna struggle to connect as sisters. With the media harping on about the recent crime wave in Arendelle, the Countess of Gyllenblom naturally worries about her younger sibling... while still trying to hide her powers from her. Meanwhile Anna seems strangely evasive when it comes to spending some time with her sister. What is she hiding?
1. Distance

_Author's note_: My take at a contemporary Alternate Universe for Frozen. Enjoy.

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><p><strong><span>Snowgirl and Iceman<span>**

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><p>The radio crackles slightly as the news announcer shifts in his seat, his local accent strong as he adjusts his tone for the more serious news item on his sheet.<p>

"Arendelle is still suffering from a blight of criminal activity beating all records. The mayor's opposition are blaming the surge of muggings and assaults on what they perceive to be his lack of authority. Mayor Weselton has not been available for comment, but sources close to him say he is very ticked off, ya? I remind listeners that our Mayor's latest response to the soaring statistics was that he intends to tackle the issue at its heart fiercely, in his words: like a bull with the face of a lion. Radio Arendelle would like to urge citizens to exercise caution in the port and student districts at all times."

The tapping of papers on the desk finishes off the news section, as a jingle begins to play in the background.

"And that is all for your morning news today!" The man's voice is back to its customary cheerful tone, his beaming smile behind the microphone obvious to all who listen. "I shall now leave you in Stefan's capable hands for music hour. Next bulletin at noon! Yoo hoo!"

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>: Distance

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><p><strong>Elsa Countess of Gyllenblom<strong>

The old grandfather clock in the hallway rings the hour. My shoes click along the corridor in time with each chime. One, two, three... On the seventh step, I stop, along with the clock which resumes its more subtle ticking. I stand still, staring at the door before me. I lose count of the seconds I spend observing the designs beautifully painted on its white panelling. Waves of nostalgia assault me as my fingers trace the shape of a flower. This door used to be familiar, a daily sight back when the paint on it had still been fresh. Now, as I notice the cracks in the paint, the scuff marks that no amount of cleaning could get rid of and the odd dent or unexplained stain, I remember how foreign it has since become to me.

This is Anna's room.

With a deep sigh, I recall the reason why I am here. Pulling up the gloves on my hands, I rap upon its entrance. There is no answer. I wait a moment, puzzlement furrowing my brow. When the silence, still populated only by the ticking clock and my own muttering, extends long enough that I start worrying at my lower lip, I give in and rap again, my voice hesitantly calling out her name.

"Anna? Anna, it's me."

_Hey sis, it's me, Elsa, that girl who can't even eat breakfast in the same room as you._

Ignoring my inner voice, I push down the door handle, letting the door creak open before me. Anna couldn't have gone back to sleep, could she? Johanna did say that she had been down for breakfast, right? The elderly maid, her hair grey from nearly two decades of cleaning up my sibling's messes, had mentioned Anna going back to her room to get ready for school.

"Anna!" I hiss as I creep into her room, hating the feeling of intruding, regretting the offer I'd made the night before as I felt the inside of my gloves grow slick and cold. My skin itches. I remind myself to keep cool. Hugging my arms to my chest, I take a deep breath. "Anna, if we don't hurry you'll be late for class."

As I take in the mess of her room, the discarded bed sheets and obvious lack of eighteen-year-old girl, the tingle of my powers fade. My frustration is replaced by disappointment. I cannot see Anna, nor can I see her satchel. Striding over to the ornate window, I take my seat to observe the sight I'd feared.

There she is, astride her bike in her bright purple anorak, the white satchel I'd been looking for solidly strapped onto her back. Her helmet is pulled on tight as she swerves past one of our guards, waving energetically at him as she powers down the private road out of the castle's grounds. I groan as I hold my head in my hands. I had told her last night that I was willing to drive her to school. With the way the town has been recently, I am reluctant for her to go to school alone. The local news is full of stories of people being robbed on the street or attacked. Ever since the start of the "crime spike" as it is referred to, I have had Gerda, our housekeeper drive her to and from Arendelle High.

Gerda has today off. She has a family event to attend on the west coast. After all the time and care she has devoted to our family over the years, I would never have dreamed of saying no to her request.

Nor would I have expected Anna to refuse a car ride with me, then again, she did love running about in the open air, come rain or shine. I brought back to mind her reaction from the night before.

"You want to drive me to school?" My sister had looked startled, her strawberry blonde plaits whirling around suddenly. I had caught her in the corridor after dinner, too nervous to ask her while we had been eating. Her face showed signs of conflicted feeling as she wrung her hands. "I'd been thinking of cycling tomorrow. I haven't been on my bike in ages!"

"Please, Anna?" Despite the desperate tone in my voice, my plea sounded weak even to my own ears. I wanted to tell her how much I worry, how much I care, but the words were stilled. Fear and guilt, as always, holding me back. I do not want her to see my guilt; I need to conceal my fears. Instead I waited, elbows gripped tightly in gloved hands.

Her turquoise eyes then fixed on me, the most direct look she had given me in months. Anna's usually open face, normally flitting between emotions clearly, seems guarded. Is my sister hiding something I wonder? The thought is chased away as quickly as it comes. I'm the one hiding the big, heartbreaking secret. I'm the one who hides behind a door, who avoids her if I can.

"I don't want to be a burden." She said. I could sense pain behind the words, a self-deprecating softness in her voice as she once more turns her eyes away from me. I could not understand how she could ever consider herself a burden. I still can't. Before she could say anything else, I stepped up to her, my proximity forcing her to meet my gaze.

"I'll come for you at seven." My voice sounds sharp, the words slightly more commanding than I had intended. Tilting my head, I allowed myself to show the deep fondness I always have for her, my words coming out softer now, my right hand swinging down to hang loosely by my side as the other gently continues to hold onto an elbow. "And Anna? You are never a burden, you hear."

I still remember the look of hesitant hope that had flickered in her eyes. It was followed by a chuckle as she shook her head, whatever thought she had had left unshared.

"Fine Elsa, I'll consider it..." Resuming her walk down to her wing of the castle, she called out, a small lilt in her voice. "Better go and finish my homework. See you tomorrow morning then!"

I had been looking forward to it, but now... As I watch her cycle away from her bedroom window, I am reminded of how time leaves its mark. How long has it been since Anna and I last managed to hang out, chat and play as sisters ought to? For years she had been most determined to break through my self-imposed isolation, to shatter the barriers our parents and I had erected. There have been times where she got very close to making me drop the mask, moments where she and I would share a smile, a quip. Yet for every instance where our bond was allowed to reform ever so slightly, there were several times as many where the door would remain shut, my eyes would stay dull and my lips sealed by fear.

No wonder she gave up. After our parents passed away, after the funeral that I was unable to attend, my powers responding overwhelmingly to the depth of my grief, she no longer sought me out. My sister stopped knocking at my door, voice hopeful that she'd get a positive response. She no longer took to following me like a shadow whenever I was about where she could go. Some days I wonder if she even cares anymore...

I turn away from her bedroom window, glistening eyes roaming over the various items in the room, my gaze stopping on one of the posters on the wall.

A sarcastic smirk finds its place on my face. It's the poster for this one movie she's recently become fond of. It's a superhero action-heavy tale in which people are born with superpowers. I only know this because she bought me the DVD as a Christmas present. She even drew me a picture, placing me alongside the protagonists.

I had thought it cute. Even though the distance between us had grown, she still wants to share with me the things she loves. She has no idea how much it hurt to realise that she had drawn me as part of a group of mutants.

I'm her hero, even after all these years, but I know all too well that magical powers don't work that way. They don't make the world a better place, or help you fight evil. I couldn't even keep my baby sister safe from mine.

Cringing at the memory of that terrible night, so many years ago now, I turn away from the poster. I can't think of it; not now, not here. Fighting back the lone tear threatening to spill from my eyes, I march out of the room, mindful of the hint of frost I manage to leave on her doorknob as I close the door.

I need to keep my distance, for Anna's sake... but I don't want us to be distant.

I don't want to be alone.

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><p><strong>Anna Gyllenblom<strong>

She feels bad as she pushes her bike the short remaining distance to the school. The red head stumbles as the bike bumps onto the sidewalk leading to the establishment's gates. She bites her lip, pauses, and sighs. Her arms feel heavy and weak, her eyes sting. She should have accepted Elsa's offer.

"Hey, Anna!" A male voice calls out to her, its tone light and carefree. "Gosh, you look exhausted."

It reminds her of why she couldn't. Wiping angrily away at the wetness in her eyes, she tries to give the boy a half-hearted smile. If she won't let Elsa find out why she's so tired, then he can't either.

"Hey Jack..." Resuming the pushing of her bicycle into the Arendelle High's grounds, she falls into step with him as they make their way to the bike sheds. He doesn't have a bike, but she knows he just likes to hang out with her. With a huff she shrugs off his comment. "It's nice to see you too."

Taking the hint, he just smiles warmly at her as he leans down at her side. As always, she feels a pinch in her heart as she notices how his smile doesn't seem to reach his eyes, how the sharp blue of his irises turns grey and dull. It is moments like this where she hesitates to call him a friend, despite really wanting to. He reminds her very much of her sister. They're both holding something back. She can tell by the melancholy quirk of their brows, the way they fall quiet at odd times. It is both infuriating and sad, because whenever the moment passes... She starts to doubt it ever was.

With a sharp turn of his head and a chirp, her friend Jack is back to his usual mischievous self. Rummaging in his pockets he chuckles.

"Oh yeah," he says. "I got that picture I wanted to show you!"

"No way!" Recalling the alleged contents of this much alluded to snap Anna fumbles and drops the keys to her padlock.

"Yeah, way!" Jack's smile can't get any smugger as he straightens up, whips a bit of card from his pocket, and awaits her reaction. She tries not to get too distracted by the way he leans against the bike shed, his other hand deeply ensconced in his light weather jacket's pocket. The boy is a natural poseur.

The red head gingerly takes the proffered image and, with all the seriousness of an avid art collector, examines its contents. It's a photo, taken outdoors, of two youngsters. The eldest, a boy of maybe fourteen or fifteen is gently holding a younger girl's shoulder as she smiles uncertainly at the camera. His rueful grin is uncannily familiar, and as Anna looks up, she stares in shock. It is Jack, a younger Jack, one with brown hair and brown eyes and a brown coat, but still the same infuriating class clown, moments away from giving the ten year old girl bunny ears. Anna's turquoise eyes flit between the eyebrows on the snap and Jack's before her. The same brown, the same shape, they are identical, yet... Jack Frost, the high school student before her has platinum white hair, and his eyes that crinkle with barely restrained mirth are as blue the hooded jacket he wears, its sleeves stained with white paint that he can't seem to wash off.

"I..." Anna no longer looks at the snap, staring at Jack as he takes the photo back. She is half tempted to believe the picture a forgery, a cleverly done photographic manipulation, but then she remembers feeling the corned edges, the slight crease in the back of the paper... That picture... The way Jack glances down warmly and wistfully at it before returning it to his pocket... "I don't know what to say. How...?"

"Will you allow me to say I told you so?" The eighteen-year-old before her sniggers and she goes to bat him about the head before reaching for the heavens in frustration. Picking up his satchel, Jack leans in to look her in the eye, holding her gaze with an intensity that surprises her. "My hair is white because I had an accident when I was fourteen. Even my eye colour changed. I wasn't born with it."

Anna wants to argue that his hair is platinum and silver with bits of the lightest brown she's ever seen, not just white, but she knows it would defeat the point. Jack is hammering in the fact that he isn't like her sister Elsa, who as far as Anna knows, has always had champagne white hair, a blond so light that in a certain light it would glow, the ginger-brown eyebrows they shared the more reassuring hint at their sibling bond. Yet there is something earnest and caring in the way Jack shares this information with her, in the way the melancholy has returned to his brow. His smile saddens as he steps back, before glancing towards the school's entrance and noticing someone there.

"Hey, I'd better shoot." He gives her a quick wave before loping away on those impossibly long legs of his. "I wanna see if Toothy's brought in her mice today! I'll catch you in class."

"Wait, Jack! That girl in the photo, is that...?" Anna's too distracted to even roll her eyes at Jack's irreverent nickname for Tatiana the girl in their year that always tops the leader boards. How the severe looking Tatiana manages to put up with him, she can't help but wonder.

"My sister, yeah..." Jacks voice softens as he walks backwards to answer Anna's query, but it doesn't take long for him to resume his more usual flippant tone. "And if I were you, I'd stop losing sleep over siblings."

And on that parting quip, her only friend in school runs off, away to chase popularity as he has always been wont to. Anna sighs deeply, fiddling with the end of one of her braids. If only he knew...

But he couldn't know that the reason she hadn't slept last night was nothing to do with Elsa. It was all very much to do with her more nocturnal extra-curricular activities. He would probably love it if she told him but... She didn't want him to know that she would occasionally spend the nights prowling the very streets he likes to haunt, that she knew which walls had his mark on them, his frost like graffiti decorating many a dark alley. For all his bravado and trickery, Jack hated to see people put themselves in danger, real, lethal danger. She still remembers his face when he had caught Astrid trying to convince her to walk across the thin ice of a pond, Anna meekly going along with it in an attempt to gain the bullish girl's approval.

Jack wouldn't want to know that he was the one that led her to her most dangerous hobby.

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><p><strong>Elsa Countess of Gyllenblom<strong>

With Anna away, I find my plans for the morning somewhat derailed. After dropping her off, I had intended to stop by the library to get some coursework done before heading to my first lecture of the day, Wednesday being one of the few days of the week where the running of the estate didn't interfere with my university time. Yet I can't bring myself to drive, not after the shock of Anna not waiting for me. I could ask Kai, our head of grounds and butler, but he is busy overseeing the repairs to the west wing this morning, and I do not wish to disturb him. Feeling the storm in my gut and the goose bumps on my skin, I give in. The only way for me to focus, to calm down before I unleash any more than an armful of ice is to go there... the old store room.

It is not a room I enjoy, but when visited in the right mood, there are items of interest there that help, that centre and ground me. Leaving my satchel on the ornamental table at the top of the staircase, I trudge up to the second floor, my shoulder brushing gently against the thin wood panelling that separates this part of the castle from the public area tourists are shown in the winter season. Arendelle castle, our ancestral home, is one of the very few cultural tourist spots in Norway to be closed in summer, between the months of May and September. Only a couple more weeks and I'll no longer hear the trained voices of the guides showing people, both local and foreign, around the more antique areas of the building. For now, I only have a few short hours before the doors open and the first showings start. Hopefully my trip to the store room will prove short. I have no wish to overhear the guides tell ghost stories once more as they near the part of the castle that houses my room.

There's a reason why we do not open the doors of the castle in summer.

The room I'm looking for is in a dark and dusty part of the north wing, a floor above my own quarters. I find it impossible to recall a time of it being in use, but it must have been at one point in the not too distant past. The light switches are fairly modern, the ornamental table by the stairs is still home to some magazines less than two decades old and, having explored the wing thoroughly at one point during my teenage years as an escape from my anxieties, I know that it houses a very comfortably equipped bedroom, bathroom and study. The most remarkable fixture that would probably give many a historian an aneurism is the passenger lift fitted by the stairs. Small but clearly still serviceable, its door is locked by a key kept safe by Kai. It is only used when things need moved from the art gallery on the ground floor to the store room I'm seeking, the lift bypassing the first floor and going no higher.

I am forever grateful that no one ever felt the need to lock the door to the old storeroom.

The design on the oaken panelling before me is simple and minimalistic, a bold shield containing a single flower, its petals sharp. It always reminds me of a sword. Purple and green give the door a dark, brooding air. I push past it, my eyes hungry for the sights behind it. The room never disappoints. The shuttered windows barely let in the late spring sunshine enough for the paintings lining the walls to be seen. I flick a switch, my heart warming at the warm tones on the walls. This is one of the few places where clutter and chaos don't put me ill at ease. Things hardly ever get moved here. The haphazard piles of frames, canvas and parchment littering the floor and tables are a sign of the room's past and no more. Wide chests of drawers are home to blueprints, family trees and legal documents as well as portraits, landscapes and inked studies. An old, damaged suit of armour sits in the corner, collecting dust.

My gloved fingers gently brush at the draping covering some of the paintings on the walls. The most recent one in here is a portrait of mother and father. I can still make out the medals on father's military uniform, and the circlet on mother's head through the black gauze. I quickly divert my gaze. Their absence still causes my heart to clench, even if it is only a dull and lonesome ache now. Having their portrait here instead of in the main entrance helps me to move on a bit, knowing that if I need to talk to my memories of them, they are here, waiting.

The pictures I am looking for, however, are much older, on the wall furthest from both door and window. As I glide nearer, my thoughts drift back to the day my father found me, cross-legged on the floor before them, eyes wide and searching as I gazed upon the likeness before me. Even though they should probably remain covered, in deference to their age, the two portraits I seek have their draping swept up and held back. I never have the heart to cover them. The woman in them haunts me, her skin slightly blue and her eyes striking. They are like my own.

I recall the hesitation in my father's voice as he spotted me in this room, the shift to a more sad understanding tone as he came to sit next to me. He asked me what I was doing there. Instead of answering I just asked the obvious question.

"Who was she?"

The bigger of the two portraits, an impressive canvas in oils, shows a young woman, as regal as a queen, a silver crown atop a head of spiky midnight black hair. There's a confident curl to her lips, a commanding point to her brow. One hand is raising a sceptre up high, light bursting around it in the artist's attempt to show its power. It is her other hand, however, that always draws my eye. Resting idly on the arm of a throne, fingers outstretched as it nudges a golden orb, the area immediately beneath the hand appears to glint and sparkle... It is the same as the floorboards had been under my own hands that day, as my father answered my query.

"No one really knows who she was anymore..." His voice was soft as he hesitantly placed a hand on my shoulder. I was at the age where I had started fearing contact, where my parent's touch brought as much anxiety as it did comfort. "I can tell you what she was."

I raised my eyes expectantly towards his. Even now I can remember the pain, worry, but also loving trust that seemed to fill them.

"She was the last queen of Arendelle. Her reign lasted a week, so they say, but her legacy lived on for much longer. You know the tale of the Snow Queen?"

I smirk sardonically at the recollection, eyeing up the legend depicted before me. She is a strange one, this unnamed queen.

"She was one of our ancestors, back in the early eighteen hundreds. Her name has been redacted from the records but... What we do know, is that she had ice powers, just like yours."

Tears fill my eyes now. All twenty years of my life I have been the only one I have ever met to have magical powers over ice and snow. What once seemed to be a wonderful blessing has since proven to be a curse. Seeing that poster in Anna's room was just another reminder of what I am. I am an anomaly, an aberration, a legend born again. The only other magical person I can even get close to relating with is an unnamed relative, her likeness frozen on canvas and parchment, centuries of distance keeping us apart.

My eyes turn to the second, much smaller and more informal portrait. The parchment has yellowed quite a lot over the years, the flesh tone used once again turned blue with age. Whereas the big framed canvas showed her as queen, this piece was an insight into the snow queen as a person.

She looks happy, despite the tears in her eyes.

I wonder why this artist, clearly a different one from the canvas, less experienced but more involved with the subject, chose to depict her so. There is some writing above a signature so elaborate I cannot read it, but what words I can make out seem to say "I miss you, sis."

I can never put into words what this second picture makes me feel. I can say what it makes me stop feeling. My feelings of loneliness, fear and alienation evaporate. Something warm and welcome fills my chest, reminiscent of some long forgotten memory I can't quite place. All I know is that it gives me hope. It gives me the courage to leave the room, not a cold breeze to be felt, and face the day.

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><p><em>To be continued...<br>_


	2. Snowsuit

_Author's note_: Some action in this chapter.

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><p>The camera jumps about as the window before it is carefully pulled open. The footage is grainy, the lens having trouble translating the dark shadows of the night scene into shapes and colours. Streetlights flare with a halo of white light, regularly distracting from the action unfolding below.<p>

"There she is!" The cameraman whispers, his voice high-pitched and raspy with excitement. "That's snowsuit girl down there..."

The video zooms into a shape in white, the small slender silhouette of a woman. Her snowsuit with black accents has a hood that hides her face from view, an occasional wisp of red hinting at long hair. She doesn't stay still long enough for the camera to sharpen the image. If she stops moving, chances are that it would be for good. In front of her there is a burly man, face red and voice loud, something sharp glinting in his raised hand; the slurs he shouts out clearly irk the cameraman, but the filming continues uninterrupted.

"Wait for it..." The background voice holds its breath a moment as the knife wielding assailant swipes down and lunges. The girl dodges, her limbs blurring. "There!"

The angry man's voice is cut short as he collapses to the ground. For the first time since the start of the film, the girl is still, her shoulders heaving with exertion. The camera zooms in as far as it can, catching, for the briefest of moments a glance at the woman's eyes as she surveys the area. She then heaves the unconscious thug to the side of the alley, before jogging away, a cellular device appearing in her hand.

"And there you have it folks! Arendelle's very own vigilante." The camera has now turned to face its wielder, the young man's face backlit into darkness, a toothy grin flashing. "Snow-Girl's number 1 Fan signing out."

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><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>: Snowsuit

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><p><strong>Elsa Countess of Gyllenblom<strong>

"Wow... That is..." The brunette waves her hand in the air, clearly trying to grasp something in her mind. "What is the word? Ah yes... Very cool!"

"Innit just, eh?" Her companion's broad smile is reaching from ear to ear as she brushes back some unruly locks. As always, it takes me a moment to adjust to her broad accent. Her vowels always sound slightly off to my educated ears, but definitely full of charm. "We got tae show Elsa..."

"God Morgen, Rapunzel, Merida." I greet them in my mother tongue, before switching to the English tongue they share. "What is this you want to show me?"

They're both sat along one of the back pews of the university's lecture theatre room 102. There are still fifteen minutes left before we can expect our lecturer mister Thorston to come in, long drawn face in his permanent gurn as he tries to recall whether its social science or psychology he's teaching today. Sometimes he gets it wrong, much to the amusement of some of the rowdier students. Most of the latter like to come in late, just to throw him off, then take front row seats to witness his embarrassment. Rapunzel, Merida and I, however, much prefer to get in early and avoid the fuss for varying reasons...

My motivations are obvious. I don't like drawing attention to myself, and I like to work hard, always have done. It's a hard balance to find when you have teachers who can't project their voice and classrooms full of gregarious folk, but thankfully, the Social Studies course I'm on isn't that well attended and, bar exceptions like Rapunzel and Merida, most of the students leave me well alone.

I give Rapunzel a small smile as Merida taps her iphone and tilts the screen for my viewing. As my eyes take in the night scene video, a small glance to the left confirms my suspicions and I cup my hand over my mouth to hide a small smirk. The German student has already kicked her shoes off, small pink feet stretching beneath the desk before her. She eyes my reaction to the video as avidly as Merida does, so I quickly return my focus to it.

It takes me a moment to realize exactly what it is that they are showing me.

"Isn't that by the bakery, the one behind the City Hall?" I query, recognizing the distinctive brickwork of our civic centre in the background.

"Ha! I knew it was there!" The brunette bounces happily in her seat.

"I was certain it was by the police station..." Merida's mutter is ignored as I resume my viewing and Rapunzel smirks.

I feel a strong anxiety seize my chest as I watch the woman in the white overalls face her aggressor. She's quick on her feet and keen to disarm him, palms flying dangerously at his wrist, face and neck. This doesn't stop me picturing my younger sibling in her position, their lithe build so similar. There's something volatile and angry in the fleeting glimpse the camera gets of the woman's face, but also hurt and lonely. The filming man's commentary makes me realize that this isn't the first time this woman's been seen performing such feats on the streets... And it terrifies me.

How can the cameraman just sit there filming? Why doesn't he call the police or go out there himself? What if that Snowsuit Girl hadn't dodged the knife, would the fool have thought to phone for an ambulance then?

I taste the cold on my tongue and shiver, my hands hugging my stomach as I fight the ice threatening to spill forth. I take a deep breath and swallow as the video concludes. The Scottish girl turns her blue eyes expectantly to mine, Rapunzel's own green eyes twinkling with curiosity behind her.

"Soo? Whad'dya think?"

I peer at Merida with the same bewildered feeling the girl has always given me. Even in the dimmed lighting of the lecture theatre her hair seems alight with flame, her round face the picture of confidence and courage. Her friendship was forced upon me following a fire drill earlier on in the year, and though I do not resent or seek it out, I have no idea why. When I ask, she just laughs, and claims to like my fearlessness and calm demeanour. "Ye remind me a wee bitty o' me ma'."

If she could read my thoughts right now, I'm sure her mental image of me would be shattered.

"I..." I what? I wish that the crime spate going through Arendelle right now weren't so bad as to incite citizens to take matters into their own hands? To a girl as stubborn and rebellious as Merida, that would just sound like an endorsement. I sigh. "I think..."

I glance at Rapunzel, looking for support or inspiration. Her head is tilted as she taps a rhythm on the carpeted floor with her toes, a slight hum beneath her breath. Suddenly I picture her before the brute in the video, her petite silhouette dwarfed by his brawn and I bite my lip. It is not a pleasant picture. I need out.

"I think I forgot my notebook in the car, I will be back shortly." It's a lie. The notepad and pen are in my satchel, but I need to find some place to be alone before I slip up. Even though I appreciate the trust and companionship they give me, I cannot inflict my secret upon them, not even by accident. Before they can respond I am already half way to the door.

"Huh," I hear Merida say. "She didnae like it, eh?"

"Hm..." Rapunzel shrugs, her voice thoughtful. I see her out of the corner of my eye, catching a glimpse of my hands desperately twisting at their gloves. "Elsa has here all her life lived... It must be..."

Whatever she was away to say is lost as I close the door behind me. Within seconds I have abandoned my slow walk in favour of a quick jog, hugging my satchel close to my chest. Lecture theatre 102; now if I recall correctly... Yes, there it is. I hurtle past a startled looking Mister Thorston, before pushing open the door to the ladies bathroom. Relieved to find all the cubicles empty, I lock myself in one and rest my head upon the door. Only now do I allow my magic to seep out, my breath covering the poster before me in frost, the crackling of ice forming at my feet.

I let out a sad chuckle. Had my emotions not been so raw from Anna going to school alone this morning, that video wouldn't have been anywhere near so distressing. I'd have probably just raised an eyebrow and made some sarcastic remark about it being possibly staged or badly filmed. As things are now, though, I'm stood angrily wiping away at teary eyes. I'm furious with myself. I let that video get me this worked up all over one small, stupid detail.

That girl's snowsuit is identical to one I used to wear whenever we went on skiing break...

And I haven't worn it since my parents died.

* * *

><p><strong>Anna Gyllenblom<strong>

At Arendelle High school, Anna's day is dragging on.

It really doesn't help that when, inevitably, she drifts off to sleep in class, (and she doesn't mean to: she knows it is beyond rude, she just desperately needs to rest her eyelids a couple of seconds, honest,) the teachers notice, waking her up with a sharp rap on her desk or ask her a pointed question to test her awareness. All it does is to embarrass her further, to the point where the colour of her face matches her hair as they catch her dozing off once more.

By early afternoon, after too short a nap at lunch, Anna feels just about ready to take a leaf out of Jack's book and skip a class... but she doesn't. Anna is a Gyllenblom and proud. Her sister is Countess of Arendelle's oldest castle, and her mother was a royal princess of Norway. The blood in her veins runs blue in all but actual colour, and she wants to make her family proud... Even if right now that's just Elsa, the sister whose company she yearns for, yet who Anna brushes off when she offers her some prime sibling bonding time, all for the sake of... the sake of what exactly?

Ugh, she just can't think straight. Thank goodness there's a free period before the history lesson at the end of the day. A short nap there, good use of the propped up chin and book combo in missus Kantenavsky's class, and she'd be good to go. She's eager for the day to end. The red head smiles warmly at the thought. She promised to meet up with Kristoff after class, and they have a lot of catching up to do.

She needs to tell him all about southern-isles13.

* * *

><p><strong>Elsa Countess of Gyllenblom<strong>

"Hey, Elsa! Please wait!"

I hold in a sigh and instead plaster a polite smile on my face. My jaw feels so tight that I'm sure the smile is barely noticeable, but I humour the young woman running up to me. It's not often Rapunzel makes the effort to speak Norwegian with me when she knows that my English is fluent enough. If she's really stuck in class, she'll sometimes call upon my slightly sketchier knowledge of her mother tongue German to make up for her stilted understanding of mine. In exchange she has helped brighten up many a day with her quirkiness and kind, attentive nature. She knows full well that I value my space, and that there are days where I really do just want to be left in peace...

As always though, she's surprisingly perceptive. For her to chase me to my car and forgo English, she knows that I'm in more than a solitary mood.

"So-sorry," she stutters as she comes to a stop next to me. "I... Elsa, what worries you? You..." Flailing with her hands at a loss for a word, she scrunches up her brow and points a finger at the wrinkles between. "Like this, all day... And you never smiled when old Sneezepot... Ack..." Frustrated at her lack of vocabulary, she switches to English, apologetically. I'm a touch grateful though, her accent was getting thicker the more she fought with her words, and her scrunched up eyebrows were a huge distraction.

"You are not yourself today..." Rapunzel says, her shoulders sagging and her big doe eyes freezing me to the spot. There's no way the twenty year old before me doesn't realize just how disarming that look is.

"I..." My left hand scrunches up around the handle of my satchel, as I let the gloved fingers of my right slide down the window pane of my car. There's no chill in the leather just now. I'm tired from worrying. Slightly empty inside, all I want to do is go catch Anna as she leaves her school and try and salvage what I can of the day. "I don't want to talk about it..."

"Och, don't be like that." Merida's rumbling tones startle me, and I snap my free hand back to my chest as I hiss out a breath only to realize it is but her. She too is speaking in Norwegian now, something she only does when she feels the situation warrants it. Despite her mastery of the Scandinavian tongue being surprisingly good, the Scottish woman much prefers to goof around and laugh at our confusion whenever her native dialect catches us out. "Rapunzel is right. You've been twisting yourself into knots all day. What's bothering you?"

The short, fiery haired student leans nonchalantly against her taller flatmate while biting into an apple, her turquoise jacket sliding off her shoulder as she eyes me sharply. Despite her lack of aquiline features, she's incredibly reminiscent of a hawk when she scowls like that. It's at times like these that I think the twenty year old Scot can see right through me. I bite my lip and keep quiet.

"Ach!" Bringing her palm to her forehead, Merida lets out some foreign swear as she swings her arms out. "It's your sister, isn't it? Darn it, I never thought about that when I showed you that video this morning."

"Oh!" Catching on to Merida's meaning, Rapunzel thumps her palm, muttering in German something about it all making sense.

I surrender. Clearly they've spent too much time around me if I'm so easy to read. I lean back against my BMW, allowing my forced smile to slip at last and showing them exactly how tired and sad and worried I feel.

"Yes." I say simply. "My sister was cycling to school this morning and what with the crime spate mentioned on the radio this morning, of course I worry."

"...Crime spate?" Rapunzel queries, confusion settling in once more upon her usually bright features.

"Ya really should watch the news maer of'en, Punzy'." Merida quips in their trademark English. She continues on in her more polished Norwegian. "So, are you going to go pick her up then?"

"I am sure she is fine and safe," Rapunzel's smile is sincere as she offers her reassurances. "You can tell her how Mister Sneezepot Oswald broke the projector. She will laugh."

Merida snickers as she recalls the incident in the third lecture of the day. Thinking back on it myself, I imagine Anna's likely reaction to the tale of one of Mister Oswald's most dramatic sneezes to date and smile. Trust these two girls to make the stress and worry evaporate from my shoulders, if only briefly. It's nice to be reminded that there's a reason I put up with their aggressive companionship...

"Thanks, I will." Nodding politely at the two, I open the car door and get into the driver's seat. The red head catches the frame before I can shut it however. "Yes?"

"Hey, by the way..." Merida seems a little uncertain, doubt something strange to see on her fair features. She's switched back to her approximation of English, clearly too uncomfortable to ask in any other language. "Ye are coming oot wi' us on Friday, yes? ...Fer ma bir'day?"

I hold back a groan that has nothing to do with my usual worries. The two girls are constantly trying to get me to go out with them in town for some outing or other. I don't think I've even humoured them with the prospect more than once or twice, but they still keep asking... The Scottish woman had been particularly clever in how she first asked me, a couple of days back, to join them, or should I say forceful.

She threatened to bring her brothers to my castle for a visit when they arrived on the Saturday if I didn't agree. From the terrifying tales she tells of the triplets, the mere prospect of them in Arendelle castle is horrifying. I fight back the mental image of three eight-year old ragamuffins, hair as wild and curly as their sister's, swinging from chandeliers and bursting through walls unannounced. Now even more eager to get away, I decide to placate her for the time being.

"I'll think about it."

And with that, she allows me to close the door, the two waving as I drive off.

* * *

><p><strong>Anna Gyllenblom<strong>

Finally, finally classes are over! Chewing on a snack she has purchased from one of the too few vending machines on the school grounds, Anna hops out of Missus Kantenavsky's class with a distinctively brighter spring in her step. She startles a few of her classmates and younger students as she twirls past them towards the bike shed, her bag swinging wide from her other hand. She hops up onto the small wall nearby, skipping a little before jumping back onto the brickwork ground, a song in her heart and a twinkle in her eye. Anna grins.

By the time Jack's caught a glimpse of her she's already cycling away down towards the port, a quick and energetic wave of her hand flung in his direction. Caught by surprise as she cut off his path, he smirks. Adjusting his satchel from which a can of spray paint threatened to spill, he shakes his head. Chuckling he hollers after her.

"Be careful out there, princess!"

"I'm always careful," she mutters, only feeling the slightest twinge of guilt for hiding such a big secret. It isn't exactly keeping safe what she's been up to.

She slows down near one of the old public toilets not far from one of the more touristy quays. She latches her bike onto a decorative fence, lock securely through its front wheel. She saunters into one of the cubicles, patiently waits for the nearby occupant to vacate and then pulls out a white garment.

"Show time!" Unfurling it from its neatly folded square, she holds up the snowsuit for inspection. There are a few scuffmarks along the legs and elbows, a bit of mud by the feet and a small rip along one arm, but overall it still looks fairly clean. For this she is grateful. She hadn't planned an outing last night, but out she had been. That assailant had been particularly rough to face, but she had gotten good information from him and nothing felt better than knowing she'd prevented him from harming another.

As she forces her booted feet into the suit, she pulls out her phone and finds the email from that morning, a warm smile on her face.

"Thanks for stopping that knife jerk for us, Snowgirl.

Couldn't have done it without you.

- S.I. 13"

A warm glow spreads across her cheeks. Shaking her head to focus back on the present, Anna puts the phone in one of the suit's many pockets before snaking her arms into its sleeves. Her fingers catch at the tear, making her realize just how deep it went and how very close to drawing blood the fiend had been. She lets out a low hiss. That is quite a few layers to mend by hand. Thank goodness she's had enough practice with a needle and thread to do it herself. Asking Gerda would be overly awkward, and Kristoff would be no good at that sort of thing. She has no time to do it now though, even if she does have a sewing kit in her satchel (which is a must for someone so prone to ruining their clothes by accident). The afore-thought of Kristoff must be growing impatient.

Stowing her satchel away in the cleaner's locker with the spare key Kristoff has procured for her, she exits the bathroom, but not without stopping to catch a glimpse of herself in the mirror first.

Before her stands a young woman, stark black and charcoal markings breaking up the monotony of white fabric, the heavy material fitting snugly to her forms. Her hood is up, its cord is drawn taught enough for it not to fall back on its own. Anna notices that one of her braids is out, making a wave of nostalgia surge through her despite its dark colour.

She used to love watching Elsa ski down the slopes in this outfit. Whenever their parents would take them to the skiing lodge on the north mountain, her older sister would don the suit and skis at the crack of dawn. She had a knack for speeding across the snow. Her movements were fluid and dance like. Anna fingers the embroidered snowflake on her breast, the pearly white threads barely visible on the white Gore-Tex. It still stings to remember how she'd acquired her sister's skiing outfit from the bins, shortly after their parents' deaths. She couldn't bear to let it go, not when she had so many memories of watching her sister in this suit, battling the elements like the hero Anna always thought of her as.

Elsa is always so brave, whether it is in the face of creepy crawlies being thrust down the back of her dress by her juvenile sibling or before the prospect of taking over the running of the family estate. Anna can't remember ever seeing the Countess of Gyllenblom, a title her sister wore so well, show any sign of fear.

To Anna, she's every bit like the superheroes she loves to read about, and watches on television. The embroidered snowflake could just as well have been the symbol of the x-men as far as the red-head was concerned. It's why Anna's taken to wearing her sister's old suit. Anna doesn't feel brave or fearless, but she wants that to change. Patrolling the streets, fighting criminals thanks to the martial arts lessons she's taken since she was a child, it helps her feel braver, stronger.

It helps her feel closer to Elsa.

A small honking sound diverts her focus back to the phone in her pocket, followed by a chime. Pulling out her smart phone, she notices an email and a text message, the latter probably from Kristoff. Opening up the email she notices that it's from southern-isles13.

There's a criminal on the loose again... And according to the coordinates they're not far from Anna's position at all.

* * *

><p><strong>Elsa Countess of Gyllenblom<strong>

I pull up to Arendelle High school just in time to see Anna cycling off into the distance. I groan as I notice that she's taken the route down towards the port as opposed to the one leading along the coast towards our home's drive. What strange venture has my sibling got in mind? I spot one of her friends through the window, a boy whose name I can't recall, but whose white hair on the photos Anna has shown me from school parties has left an impression. I manage to catch his gaze as he walks up to the pedestrian crossing at which I'm stopped. He smiles warmly as I roll down my window.

"Hey..." He says simply, catching the hockey stick he'd been twirling.

"Do you know where Anna's headed?" I ask, trying to keep my voice from shaking. The swarm of high school students around us is a bit off-putting, and I can't help but wonder if somehow Anna was deliberately avoiding me.

"Dunno," the boy shrugs. "I know she likes to go to a martial arts class down that way, but it's usually only on Thursdays. Perhaps she's meeting a mate."

I bite my lip in thought. Is it really worth me trying to go after her? Part of me feels ridiculous, chasing after Anna when she's clearly perfectly happy without me around. I'm being over protective. I'm getting worked up about nothing.

Yet why can't I get that video the girls showed me out of my head?

"Why don't you try her phone?"

Startled, I ask the boy to repeat himself. Something in my expression must have prompted his response, but I have no idea what.

"Her phone? She's always got it on her. Give it a ring."

"I..." A car toots behind me, urging me to move on now that the crossing's clear. "Thanks..."

"Jack." He gives me a small wave and turns down a side street, leaving me to get the car back into gear. I'm not allowed to look at his gangly figure long before I have to focus back on the road, but I am truly grateful for his suggestion. Maybe giving Anna a phone would help.

Unlike Anna, Merida and others our age though, I have no great enthusiasm for modern gadgets, much preferring to rely upon pen and paper. My fingers are always too cold for touch screens anyway, and I find my mobile phone is only used in emergencies... I'm not even certain I have Anna's number in its directory, the old beat-up Nokia a tool I associate more with work around Arendelle Castle and the odd call to Gerda and Kai when I find myself having too bad a day to drive back home.

It is as I ponder all this that I make my way down to the port, stopping at the side of a pedestrian road down which I caught a glimpse of Anna's bright coloured coat and bike. Parking the motor, I close the door decisively and lock it. My eyes glaze over as I look out at the Fjord. From here I can see the quay Mama and Papa's boat left from, a small vessel heading to Denmark for a royal wedding, doomed never to reach its destination.

I shudder as I am suddenly acutely aware of the strong breeze blowing across the waters. We may be well into spring, but there is no warmth in the air tonight. I pull my thin dress jacket closed and cross my arms in an attempt to remind myself what heat feels like. I don't mind the cold itself, but dark thoughts certainly give me a longing for the kind of warmth that I haven't truly felt since I was a young pre-teen.

Turning away from the waters, I remind myself why I am here and start walking along the pedestrian avenue. There aren't many people about, café chairs remaining stacked as they await the warmer tourist season. It's still too early in the day for Arendelle's nightlife, the sun still gliding above the tall hills and mountains around us. A few kids are walking their dog, a man is tinkering with his motorbike, and one of the shop owners is out giving his windows a scrub. I crease my brow at the lack of purple anorak. I was certain I saw Anna come down this way. Maybe she went into a shop?

I check out a few, wringing my hands as I find each one empty but for a politely smiling owner or patron. I've walked up and down a few merchant roads before going down a dark alley to check out a small café... Maybe she was meeting a friend over a cup of hot cocoa? I keep cycling through Rapunzel and Merida's reassurances in my head. I try to forget the radio broadcast from the morning, the video on the Scottish lass's iphone. I tell myself that if Anna was really going to do anything dangerous, her friend Jack would probably stop her. I'm only a few doors down from the Café when I stop, turn to face the fjord, my forehead in my hands as I force myself to stop and breathe. Panicking won't do me any good and...

I snap my head up at the sight of her bike. There it is, down by the public toilets on the quay. It is chained to one of the bike holding fences there. It has to be her bike. I start walking down towards it, deaf to a sudden commotion occurring behind me. It is only when someone grabs me around the throat that the thought occurs to me to look around.

"Don't move!" A harsh voice shouts in my ear. Not that I could if I wanted to. Whoever it is has a strong grip. Disorientated by the sudden intervention, it takes a moment for the blood to start rushing through my heart, frustration at being held, at being touched against my will beating strong. This had better not be some idle prank. If this is Anna's doing...

And then I see the metal object flick into view briefly before something sharp and cold is pressed under my chin.

"I said don't move!" The voice barks once more, female but rough and hoarse, as though it belongs to someone ill... Yet they speak with such strength, such intent that mirrors the steely desperation with which they keep me from slipping away despite the best efforts of my gloved hands. Forcefully they swing me around to face another, a figure in white that I barely spare a glance at. The interloper's grip is strangling me. I can't breathe, and it is for more than lack of air...

I can feel it rushing, faster than a heartbeat, building up for release, sharp and painful. I can't, I won't allow that to happen. Fuelled by the same fear that is channelling my ice, I fight, I struggle. I mustn't let it out. Not here, not now... I don't care that it wants to fight off my assailant for me. If I allow it, then someone might die.

I would never be able to live with myself if that happened.

I hear shouting. Some of it might even be my own. I feel something hot stinging at my jaw. I ignore it, intent on breaking free, blind to all else but the glimmer I spy at my feet. Curses... It's already icing up the pavement.

A blur of white streaked with coal flashes across my vision. I hear a nasty thud as my aggressor and I both lose our footing on the now slippery ground. At last they let go. I fall onto my side, hard. Stars fill my eyes from the shock but I can breathe again. I fill my lungs with deep gulps of air colder than I'd like. The tide in my veins stills, but it does not recede. More frost is bound to come.

"Elsa?" Someone gasps. I recognize the voice, I think. Twisting around I search for Anna only to see a silhouette that looks familiar but out of place; that white snow suit...

Before I've finished connecting the dots, my aggressor is back on their feet, a figure in red and black swearing loudly as they clear the patch of black ice, their pen knife left behind. The snow girl, the very same one as in Merida's video, bites back a curse and gives chase, glancing wearily behind her at a commotion up the street.

My blood runs cold as I recognize the uniforms. Two policemen are running down towards us. They might ask questions. I can't cope with questions right now. My hand cupped to the pain on my jaw, I leap up and glide off the ice, running in turn. Thankfully, the officers chase after the other two.

My nerves frazzled and on edge, I find a dark passageway to hide in, praying that there's still enough warmth in the late afternoon sunlight to melt the frost I've left on the street. I know that the patch forming on the wall behind me is going to take a long time to thaw. It seems like ages before I can start to think clearly, though I'm still shaking. There's no way I can drive in this state, but I need to get home. I pull out my mobile phone, praying that my gloves will protect it long enough for a short call. The dial and ring tone seem to take forever. The deftness with which the call is answered is nearly too normal and homely for me, but all the more welcome for it.

"Kai..."

My voice must have been shaky, for he seems to understand everything from my tone. A sharp intake of breath is all he allows himself before replying.

"Where shall I pick you up from, Marm?"

"Northern quay." I pause for a minute, weighing my options, biting my lip. "By the BMW."

If there's any confusion, he'll be able to use the GPS tracker from the car. It'll have to do.

"I'll be there in five minutes." Good. That is good.

I put the phone away, frowning at the little flowers of frost forming on its casing. My hands are still shaking, but thankful there is no more ice spreading from my feet.

As I make my way back to the car, I'm unsure whether I'm glad or not to see that the bike I thought was Anna's is gone.

* * *

><p><em>To be continued...<em>


End file.
